


The art isn't gone

by sas



Series: Femslash February Prompts [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Hurt/Comfort, Spy skills, Tumblr Fic, Tumblr Prompt, bankrobbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sas/pseuds/sas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mstoker asked: Margaery/sansa "I may or may not have robbed a bank just now and please help me get away i’ll repay you in sexual favours and also cash" au</p><p>One of my Femslash February prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	The art isn't gone

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a QOTSA song.

“I may have messed up.” **  
**

“Sansa. Wh—What time is it? Why are there alarms going off?”

“I’ll explain later. Can I come over?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

“Kay.”

Margaery stared at her phone, unsure of what had just happened. Her clock showed 09.18. She looked around, bleary-eyed, and found her apartment exactly as she left it. This, for some reason, felt at odds with Sansa’s tone on the phone.

The coffee had just finished brewing when there was a hurried knock on the door. Behind it, Sansa stood chewing her lip.

“Sans, everything okay?”

She tossed her eyes around, searching, before she nodded and croaked, “can I come in?”

“Of course.” Margaery nodded, standing aside to let the redhead pass. She followed her to the living room, where Sansa was standing in the middle of the room, still clutching the duffel bag she was carrying.

“What’s wrong, Sansa? You’re as white as a ghost and you’re about to do irreparable damage to your lip.”

Sansa looked at her, eyes pleading. “I fucked up.”

“Okay. Just tell me what happened.”

“Promise you won’t hate me?”

Margaery, despite the situation, couldn’t help but smile affectionately. “Not possible.”

“Okay. Okay.” It was obvious to her that Sansa was trying to work up the courage to explain, which only served to make Margaery feel even less at ease.

“So, you know that Bran had that accident a few weeks ago?”

Margaery nodded.

“Well, we went to see a specialist, you know, about treatment and where to go from here. They said there was a procedure they could do, you know, to help him walk again. Or maybe not walk, but at least keep the mobility in some of his body.”

“Okay.” Margaery nodded again.

“The only thing is, it’s not covered by our Health Insurance, and it’s going to cost ninety grand.”

“Shit.” Margaery breathed.

“Yeah, shit.” Sansa began pacing. “And you know, a few years ago and with a payment plan, we would have been able to deal with this but there’s just… There’s no money anymore. Winterfell is pretty much bankrupt and the family with it.”

“Okay. We can sort this out.”

“I’m not finished. We had been talking, you know, the whole family, about what to do. Because if we just leave him, there’s a chance he could lose mobility in his whole body. The financial and emotional strain, I’m pretty sure it would kill my parents. But it’s Bran. We can’t do nothing. I couldn’t do nothing.”

She looked at Margaery again, eyes searching for any sign of judgement. When she found none, she continued.

“So, last night, I uh… Oh god. Okay. Last night I made a decision because I have to help them, Mags. So, I took this,” Sansa gingerly removed a revolver from the waistband of her jeans. If she heard Margaery’s quiet gasp, she did not let on. “And this,” she pulled a wolf mask from the top of the duffel, “and I went to that little bank down by the train station.”

“Jesus,” was all Margaery could manage.

“I know. I messed up so bad.” Before Margaery could make her way across the room, Sansa had collapsed in a heap, wracking sobs ripping through her body. Margaery swiftly knelt by her side. She pushed the revolver and mask out of the way and covered Sansa’s back with her body, pulling the shaking girl into her.

“It’s okay, Sans. Shh,” she soothed, running her hands up and down Sansa’s arms. “It’ll be okay. We’ll deal with this.”

Sansa raised her head, eyes pain-filled and watery. Margaery pulled a tight smile across her face and nodded in assurance. When her crying had abated a little, Margaery stood.

“Okay, first thing’s first. The money, where is it?”

Sansa motioned towards the duffel. Without a word, Margaery opened the bag and began counting the money.

“There is considerably more than ninety grand here.”

“I don’t want to know!” Sansa grumbled.

“Okay, come on.”

They both walked out the back door, towards Margaery’s garden. Sansa knew the garden was her pride and joy, something so out of step (and yet so fitting) to her character. When they reached the very end, they came upon a stone bench which looked to Sansa as though it had been hewn out of one single, large piece of rock. Margaery dropped down in front of it, and when she slid her fingers under the edge of the seat, a large section of the base separated and began to come away. Inside, there was a large hollow. Without hesitation, Margaery pushed the whole duffel into it and closed the structure again.

“Wh—” Sansa started.

“My brother is a gay congressman. The Tyrell’s are very good at hiding things.” Her smirk was part self-indulgent, part self-abasing.

After a moment, Sansa trailed after her once more as she retreated back inside. In the living room, she found Margaery crouched in front of the hearth.

Over her shoulder, she asked, “I take it you didn’t use the gun?”

Sansa choked a little on her answer. She vehemently shook her head.

“Good. We can put that in my safe. Give me the mask.”

Sansa tossed her the mask, which she admired for a second.

“A wolf? A little bit predictable, don’t you think?”

“Jon wore it for Halloween last year. It was the only thing we had in the house.”

Margaery just smiled fondly before dropping the fur-and-plastic wolf into the newly-lit flames.

“Clothes, too. Pants and jacket.”

Before Sansa could protest, Margaery clarified, “You’re going to be on camera wearing them. It’s best to just get rid of them. Plus,” she smiled conspiratorially, “we’ll need you in your underwear for the next part.”

Sansa didn’t bother to question, just peeled herself out of her black jeans and black jacket. As she stood there in a tank top and her underwear, Margaery dropped the offending clothing on to the fire.

“Okay, come on. My bedroom.”

Sansa’s face obviously betrayed her confusion. Margaery absently ran a warm hand down her arms, subtly guiding her, before telling her, “You need an alibi. Go on, go get into my bed. Get yourself warm and sleepy-looking.”

Sansa simply obeyed; she crawled into Margaery’s bed. It was still slightly warm, still smelled like Margaery and sleep, and Sansa had to stop herself from taking in great big lungfuls of the smell and burrowing down into the comfort embarrassingly.

When Margaery returned, she was holding a small camera. Immediately, she snapped a picture of Sansa with her face jammed into a pillow.

A light laugh bubbled from the older girl’s mouth. “Perfect.”

She snapped a few more. Sansa peeking out from behind the covers, Sansa covering her face with her forearm, Sansa laughing as Margaery tickles her ribs. Margaery slipped into the bed, and Sansa felt her stomach tighten at this intimate closeness.

“What are we doing?” Sansa half-giggled. “This hardly seems like the time for making memories.”

“But it’s the perfect alibi. You spent the night here.” Margaery scooted closer, smiling at the camera as she snaps another shot. “We spent the evening and morning in bed, and we have pictures to prove it.”

Sansa felt nervous; she could feel the heat of Margaery’s skin pressing against her own. She swallowed hard and leaned into it for another photograph. When Margaery pressed her lips to the corner of her mouth to capture another picture, she nearly cried out in shock. Sansa made a questioning noise, but Margaery simply shrugged and mumbled something about ‘believability’.

And with that, Margaery slid out of the bed and sat herself at her desk across the room.

“Right,” she plugged the camera in to the computer that sits there, and turned back to Sansa. “You go shower, I’ll deal with these.”

“Deal with them?”

“Yeah, I’m going to to edit the time-stamps. Then if they examine them, they’ll think they were taken through the night and morning.”

“And they won’t know that you did that?”

“Honey,” she gave her a soft look, “if they have anyone who is better at this than me, they kind of deserve to catch you.” Sansa felt oddly comforted, but that didn’t stop a lump rising in her throat at the thought of getting caught. “Now, shower. I’ll leave some clothes on the side for you.”

Sansa only nodded and left the room as Margaery turned back to the screen.

In the shower, Sansa spent a long time simply standing under the warm spray of water. Objectively, she knew she should feel guilty, but she doesn’t. Maybe, she thought, it was shock, her body refusing to acknowledge the ridiculous situation she had gotten herself in to. However, she also knew that the bank was insured, that those with savings there wouldn’t suffer. She thought she should feel more nervous, but was strangely calm.

After washing her hair, scrubbing her nails and thoroughly cleaning her whole body, she emerged. As promised, Margaery had left a pair of shorts and an oversized sweater on the side. Sansa pulled them on and headed back to the bedroom.

When she pushed passed the door, she realised that Margaery was on the phone. The older woman smiled at her and continued.

“I’m fine, Tyrion. Everything is fine. I just have a favour to ask.”

A pause.

“I need you to do some laundry for me.”

Pause.

“About a quarter.”

She nodded.

“We’re in no rush. I’ll get it to you the usual way?”

A noise in the affirmative from the other end of the line.

“Great. You are a King among men, Mr Lannister. I’ll see you soon.”

Margaery hung up and spun around so she was looking at Sansa, who was now sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed.

“Okay, so… That’s the clothes gone, gun and money stored safely, alibi sorted, and I called in a favour with Tyrion to get the notes changed to ones that won’t be tracked back to that bank or the robbery. There is one slight problem, now, however.”

A nod was all Sansa could manage.

“You won’t be able to start spending this money in great amounts straight away. It will look too suspicious.”

Margaery continued, cutting off Sansa’s protestation.

“I know what you’re thinking. That you need this money for the operation and that’s why you did this and now I’m telling you you can’t.”

Sansa nodded again, somewhat numbly.

“So you are going to take a loan of the money from me, for the operation. Then, when the heat dies down, you can pay me back.”

Sansa stood quickly, her arms flying up. “I can’t do that! It’s too much money. I… I have the money, it’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” Margaery stood in front of the redhead, taking her wrists in hand to stop them from flailing around wildly. “Listen, I won’t miss it, not for a few months. Trust-fund baby, remember?”

“Just for a few months?”

“Just for a few months.” The look on Margaery’s face was open, comforting.

Sansa swallowed the new lump in her throat and nodded her agreement. The anxiety she felt was instantly assuaged by the smile she received in return.

“Okay, come on.” Margaery started to drag Sansa back towards the bed. “You need to relax. You get comfy, I have ‘Les Mis’ waiting to be played, and I’m going to go grab some ice cream.”

“Ice cream? It’s only ten thirty!”

Margaery laughed suddenly, loud and genuine. Sansa only raised her eyebrow in question.

“You literally just robbed a bank but you won’t eat ice cream for breakfast. You are priceless, Stark.”

Embarrassed, Sansa just smiled dumbly and seated herself on the bed, trying to ignore the blush now riding high on her cheeks.

Margaery reentered the room a minute later with a cardboard carton and two spoons; she dropped herself down on the bed beside the redhead, so close that their shoulders and thighs touched as they watched the laptop monitor. Somewhere between ‘At the End of the Day’ and ‘I Dreamed a Dream’, Sansa started to lose that vaguely sick feeling and began to feel not only comfortable but completely relaxed.

“You surprised me, you know. I don’t really know what I expected when I decided to come here, but this definitely was not it.”

Margaery turned her head slightly in an attempt to look at her.

“Yeah?” she asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you decide to come here?”

“I don’t really know. I was just panicking, you know? Freaking out, and all I could think of was getting somewhere, getting to someone who could calm me down, even if they couldn’t help me.”

“And you thought of me?”  
  


“You’re the only person I thought of.”

“Hmm.”

“But this,” Sansa swept her arm across the room, a vague gesture at everything that had happened that morning, “this spy-level dealing with it was not what I expected.”

Margaery laughed softly. “You surprised me as well. I never would have thought you could act so much out of passion. Out of love.” Sansa made an involuntary hurt noise, and Margaery scrambled to correct herself. “Not that I thought you didn’t feel those things. Just, normally, you are very calculated. You’re always so put together, even when you’re scared.”

“That’s not how I feel.”

“I know. You’re a very strong girl, Sansa.”

Words wouldn’t come to Sansa. She could only nod.

“Keep surprising me. Just, you know, not with the felonies.” Margaery smiled.

The smile was so fond that all Sansa could do was try to kiss it off her face. Margaery’s lips held the smile against her own for a second before they relaxed and returned the kiss. When they separated, slightly breathless and a little flushed, Margaery huffed out a small laugh.

“Yeah, like that is good.”

After a month, Sansa stops feeling the need to continuously watch over her shoulder. After three months, police sirens no longer make her heart stop.

Nine months later, lying on a beach with Margaery, she almost forgets how she paid for the holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my tumblr is free to bombard.
> 
> tepidwaterdialogues.tumblr.com


End file.
